Chapter 240: He Has Nothing to Do with Us
At the banquet, Davey greeted everyone who came to toast him with practiced ease, exchanging business cards as a matter of course.
In his memories of the Golden Birdcage mission from his previous life in the game, the mayor’s banquet had seemed fairly small in scale. Aside from a handful of characters tied to later plotlines, the rest were little more than filler NPCs.
In reality, however, the scene before him was vastly different. The gathering numbered at least several hundred people.
Anyone who had received an invitation was an elite of Saint Denis.
Nearly half of them were accompanied by female partners.
It could be said that the city’s hundreds of thousands of residents were, for the most part, under the influence of this small circle of a little over a hundred people.
Of course, there were a very few whose power surpassed even that of the mayor, and those people didn’t bother to attend at all.
For example, none of the city council members were present. Most of them lived in the more “civilized” cities of the eastern United States, not in Saint Denis.
“Excuse me, Mr. Land. I have a few friends waiting upstairs, so I’ll have to take my leave for now,” Bronte said.
“You know them as well, Mr. Land. If you have time later, you’re welcome to come up and chat.”
After the usual round of social pleasantries, Bronte raised his glass toward Dutch on the second floor, then turned back to Davey with an apologetic smile.
It was hard to believe this wasn’t intentional. Everyone present knew that even if Davey had changed his name, it didn’t erase the fact that he had once been a wanted criminal.
And those former criminal companions of his were now gathered upstairs.
Davey looked at Bronte for a long moment. He knew perfectly well that this man had deliberately invited Dutch and the others to put him on the spot.
Just like in the original storyline, Bronte had invited Dutch’s group—but Davey’s presence had clearly shifted his purpose.
“Of course,” Davey replied calmly. “They’re old friends of mine. We’ve shared plenty of unforgettable memories.”
“So, Mr. Bronte, you really shouldn’t neglect my friends.”
Davey didn’t care in the slightest about exposing his connection to Dutch and the others. At this point, such things were beneath his concern.
Even if everyone knew—so what? It wasn’t as if anyone could use that as evidence in court.
In a place like Saint Denis, talking about the law struck Davey as almost comical.
After speaking, he raised his glass and gestured toward Dutch and the others upstairs.
Bronte’s expression stiffened. He hadn’t expected Davey to acknowledge them so openly, let alone in front of so many prominent figures.
This was the exact opposite of what he wanted.
What Bronte had hoped for was for Davey to deny knowing them, giving him room to exploit Dutch and drive a wedge between the two sides—perhaps even push them into open hostility.
“Of course, Mr. Land. I wouldn’t neglect any friends,” Bronte said coolly.
With that, he slipped out of the crowd and headed up to the second floor.
Davey kept his courteous smile and resumed mingling with the guests around him.
Compared to Davey’s side, Stella’s corner was even livelier.
The design of her evening gown was unlike anything on the market, and paired with her striking, voluptuous figure, it made the dress shine with an almost blinding allure.
As a result, many well-dressed ladies gathered around her, eagerly asking about the new style.
This, too, was part of Davey’s careful planning.
Aside from the Carrow Factory, he also owned a smaller workshop.
Carrow focused on the mass market—affordable and practical products.
The other workshop, however, targeted the high end: luxurious, refined, and expensive.
If he wanted to break into elite circles, there was no better opportunity than this banquet.
Out of pride, the gentlemen present didn’t ask where Davey’s white formalwear came from—but it was obvious the idea had already taken root in their minds.
After all, formalwear these days was almost entirely black, and this splash of white was simply too distinctive to ignore.
Davey and Stella’s outfits were the perfect advertisement.
...
Second floor.
Bronte walked over to Dutch.
“Well, cowboys, you’ve all seen it,” he said with a smile. “Your former companion has become Saint Denis’s newest rising star.”
“That’s something worth celebrating, isn’t it?”
“Maybe you could rely on old ties to curry a bit of favor. I’m sure he’d be happy to take you in.”
His words were wrapped in smiles, but his tone was full of mockery and provocation.
Bronte could tell that, as the leader of the Van der Linde Gang, Dutch didn’t have a good relationship with Davey anymore.
Otherwise, Bronte wouldn’t have needed to personally deliver the invitation.
“No, Mr. Bronte,” Dutch replied flatly. “He is who he is, and we are who we are. We’re not the same kind of people anymore.”
“Maybe Davey’s enjoying the spotlight right now, but I believe your connections in this city far exceed his, don’t they?”
“The people downstairs are only fascinated because it’s their first time meeting him. Your friends, Mr. Bronte, are certainly far more numerous.”
Dutch cast a brief glance toward the crowd below before finishing his words.
The message was clear.
Davey had nothing to do with them anymore.
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